


Who Do You See?

by torigingerfox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 04:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19822825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigingerfox/pseuds/torigingerfox
Summary: Sometimes we see what we want, and we don't see what we should.Sometimes we think we're unimportant, while for someone we're the world.





	Who Do You See?

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [BTSS2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BTSS2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Mia Thermopolis and Michael Moscovitz from The Princess Diaries
> 
> Written for The Fairest Of The Rare's 2019 Before The Spring Snaps Fest
> 
> Many many thanks to the Admins for their patience and support, and to my amazing beta I_WAS_BOTWP for her invaluable help and cheering. I hadn't been writing in months and I am so glad this fest pleased my fussy Muse.

_ “Hermione Granger: From Muggleborn Extraordinaire to Wizarding Royalty” _

_ By Rita Skeeter _

_ “Who could’ve imagined that average-looking Hermione Granger, mostly known for her friendship with none other than the Chosen One, and for her penchant for rich and famous wizards, would’ve turned out to be as Pureblood as they come? _

_ The Champion of the Underdogs, the Heroine of all Muggleborns has been discovered to belong to one of the oldest wizarding families. The Selwyn family has always been considered wizarding royalty, with assets and titles that make the Queen Of England herself look like a peasant in comparison, and the heir of this immense fortune had been thought lost forever, until not long ago. _

_ Now, dear readers, the question is: did Hermione Jean Gran—Selwyn know? Was it all an act on her part, to gain the sympathy of others, and the trust of Harry Pott— _

  
  


“Oh God, can old Rita’s bullshit get any more absurd?” asked Harry throwing his copy of  _ The Daily Prophe _ t in the fireplace. “She never learns, does she? I wonder why the Prophet still employs her.”

Hermione, on her part, was mercilessly biting her lower lip and twitching her robes with shaking hands. “Alas, she sells. As high a pile of rubbish this may all be, people crave it. And, I mean…I don’t know what to do, boys. What if people believe her?”

From his spot on the sofa, Ron seemed more worried about staring mindlessly into space than reassuring his best friend.

“Ron..?”

After a long yawn, he waved off her worries and mumbled, “I don’t see what the big deal is. So, you were adopted, wow. You have a different surname now. Different name, same Hermione. C’mon…everyone knows Skeeter is a fraud.”

_ Yes, sure. Everyone, including his mother. Triwizard Tournament, anyone? _

Hermione turned to Harry, desperate for reassurance and some common sense. After all, he was slightly more perceptive when it came to feelings and major life changes.

Luckily, he did not disappoint.

“Look, I am not telling you this won’t have repercussions, but we’ll deal with whatever comes our way, OK?”

Hermione shot him a grateful look, and nodded. She couldn’t quite believe her life had been turned upside down, and all because she had decided to become a blood donor.

She had always wanted to do something helpful in the Muggle world too, and she had entertained the idea of donating blood for quite a while. It had seemed almost cathartic, since in the wizarding world blood had caused a war.

Hermione had put a lot of thought into the events that lead to the second wizarding war, and she could definitely find several parallelisms with Muggle racist ideology. Only, Muggles never really cared about blood. Blood was donated and transfused normally; it really was no big deal, where it came from. No, they didn’t care about the backgroud of the person who donated blood, as long as it was proven to be free of diseases. But in other ares of life, they did discriminate based on the colour of the skin, and she knew all over the Muggle world there must be little bigoted Muggle versions of Draco Malfoy spitting insults at kids with a different skin colour. Wizards or not, they all really were in the same boat when it came to human bigotry and stupidity.

However, she was digressing.

After the war, she had restored her parents’ memories. It had been very emotional, and Hermione’s actions to save them did not go without a few repercussions on their relationship. Trust issues had made it quite difficult at first, but Hermione’s resilience and her parents’ unconditioned love had made it possible to overcome their difficulties. One day, her parents were sitting on the sofa, watching a gardening show, when Hermione had come back home, her hands full of leaflets and brochures, happily declaring her intention to become a blood donor.

The look on her mother’s face stopped her dead in her tracks. Not even the realisation that her daughter had wiped all of her memories had granted such a reaction. Her father, albeit a little more composed, had not seemed thrilled either.

To cut a long story short, after a whole night of crying, yelling, hugs, and lengthy explanations - it turned out that her parents were in fact adoptive parents. They had kept the truth from her for more than eighteen years to protect her. She wasn’t the biological daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Granger, but she had in fact been adopted via a private agreement, and her mom and dad had been sworn to the utmost secrecy. Their liaison had been a well-known lawyer, who had contacted them after finding their names in the database of the National Adoption System.

Hermione took it upon herself to find out the whole truth and tracked down the lawyer who had managed the secret adoption business. It turned out this Mr. Babington was no ordinary lawyer. He helped magical refugees disappear in the Muggle world, and was himself a wizard. Since Hermione was of age, he agreed to disclose the secret files regarding her real identity: Hermione Selwyn, the last Heir to the Selwyn estate, and to all the titles of the Ancient House of Selwyn.

Hermione’s natural mother and father weren’t, as widely believed, supporters of the Dark Lord, and knowing that their daughter would never be safe in the wizarding world, they had smuggled her away and had staged her death. They had been killed shortly after shipping her to safety. Death Eaters had made sure to bury the truth and had modified memories and records so that one of their circle could pose as her father’s brother. The imposter had died during the Battle of Hogwarts, and with him had died the magic that sealed the memories of many witches and wizards, as well as many Ministry records.

Unfortunately for Hermione, the press had gotten wind of the truth regarding her heritage. Most likely, someone privy to the confidential information had sold it to the  _ Prophet  _ and that was basically how Hermione had ended up in her current predicament.

She was used to being in the press - as a war heroine and best friend of Harry Potter it wasn’t uncommon to be asked for an interview, or to garner the attention of the various tabloids. What she wasn’t used to was being followed around, or having her private life (a life she herself knew nothing about) plastered across all the papers.

She went from being persona non grata in all the Pureblood circles, to being invited to seemingly all the teas, galas, and fund-raising dinners they held. Even Narcissa Malfoy had contacted her with an offer not long after the news of her true identity was revealed publicly. She wanted to teach Hermione all there was to know about Pureblood customs, and had scheduled a series of private lessons to “turn her into a true Pureblood queen”.

The first meeting had been traumatic at best. A horror from beginning to end, and something that Hermione will remember for many years to come.

**One Month Earlier**

Hermione had been standing in front of the gates for the best part of an hour. She had been so scared to be late for her first meeting with Narcissa Malfoy, that she had overdone it and had Apparated in Wiltshire well before she was supposed to. She knew being late was bad, but being early wasn’t appreciated either, so she just stood there, taking in the impressive view.

Malfoy Manor stood tall, in all its grandeur. White as the peacocks roaming the gardens, in stark contrast with the deep blue sky. Unmovable and unmoving, Hermione could swear the bloody building was  _ looming _ over her, an everlasting fortress of prejudice and despair.

Granted, maybe she was being a  _ little _ overdramatic. But she had been tortured there, okay? She wasn’t just going to pretend it had not happened, and if Mrs. Malfoy thought she would, well…tough luck!

She was still debating whether she could endure this nonsense “class”, or if she’d be better off fleeing, when a pop behind her signalled someone Apparating.

“Hermione.”

She didn’t need to turn around to know to whom the voice belonged to. Theodore Nott, also known as the only Slytherin who didn’t have his head up his own arse. They’d been Arithmancy partners for years, and not long after they started meeting in the Library to revise, they also became friends. It wasn’t anything like her friendship with Harry and Ron. The boys were fiery and protective, and were simple to read. Theo was…different. They connected on a whole other level. His intellect and wit were admirable, and more than once Hermione had thought he would’ve made an exceptional Ravenclaw.

Plus, he had never made fun of her. Not once. No mean comments on her teeth, her hair, or her general lack of feminine charm. She appreciated his maturity to keep their friendship on a higher level. A level where brains were decidedly more important than looks. Back then, when they were only Hogwarts students and she wasn’t famous (nor Pureblood), he still hung out with her, and he wasn’t ashamed to be seen with Hermione Granger.

She turned around smiling “Theo, how’re you?”

He smiled back, while battling with his dark curls, swept by the wind. “I am good. I mean, same old Theodore. No big life changes…while you, how are you faring?”

“I…am trying to adapt to all this nonsense”, she admitted, moving closer, absently smoothing down her own hair. “I mean…I find it extremely stupid that everyone has started treating me differently. I am still me, you know?”

_ “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet…”, _ he replied reassuringly.

It was official: Theodore Nott really  _ got _ her.

As much as Hermione would’ve liked to spend the rest of the day roaming the countryside with him while quoting Shakespeare, it was time for her to put her big-girl pants on and face Narcissa Malfoy.

Theo must have noticed her hesitance because he leaned over and stage whispered, “I have it on good authority that the Lady of the Manor doesn’t bite. Just don’t look her in the eyes, or she might petrify you!”

Hermione laughed, but the parallelism with Medusa was highly realistic. She was pretty sure a _ faux pas _ would have garnered her at least an incinerating glare, most likely accompanied by a scathing remark on her complete lack of education and upbringing.

Once inside, she and Theo parted ways. “I need to see _ His Highness the Prince _ this morning.” This was relayed with a smirk and an eyeroll. “Just don’t let her get you. I like your soul the way it is, Granger!”

Hermione had expected books and boring tirades on how it was important to pass on the Pureblood customs and to uphold the standards of their highly esteemed society. Nothing, not a single bloody thing, could have prepared her for the sight that met her once she entered the Ballroom where Narcissa was waiting for her.

The place had been turned into a make-over centre, with piles of hair-styling implements, body products, menacing tools that would have fit into a medieval torture chamber, gowns, robes, shoes, and accessories of all kinds…and two beauticians eagerly waiting for her.

“My dear, please do come in!”

Narcissa Malfoy was waiting in the middle of the room, her arms open in a warm and welcoming gesture. 

Hermione complied and before she could utter a single protest, the two beauticians dragged her on a table and started poking and probing, while exchanging exasperated looks. She would’ve felt mildly insulted, if she weren’t so worried about what would happen next.

It turned out, witches hadn’t invented an effective method to wax, and she had to endure it the muggle way. Granted, the wax was imbued with a potion, making the results everlasting, but the pain was all there.

After hours, (not joking…hours!) of waxing and hair styling, after litres of potions applied to every inch of her body, the two beautician witches brought her in front of the mirror, and Hermione had serious difficulties reconciling the reflected image with her own. The girl staring disbelievingly back at her couldn’t possibly be her same bushy-haired, messy self.

Narcissa seemed pleased with the result, and treated her to a tea in the sunroom, presenting her with the content of their future lessons. Halfway through, Malfoy Jr. and Theo joined them, and the incredulous look on the Ferret’s face half pleased and half angered her.

Since he discovered she wasn’t a Muggleborn, his attitude towards her had changed greatly. No snide remarks, no contemptuous looks. Hermione was fairly sure it had more to do with Narcissa’s strict instruction than his own initiative. Especially since she knew his dislike was so deep, a change of surname and blood status could hardly do miracles.

Objectively, Draco was pleasing to look at, but she very well couldn’t forget all the times he had insulted her and her friends on the basis of something as idiotic as the Pureblood ideology. Moreover, he hadn’t exactly shown signs of remorse, he was simply  _ behaving _ .

After what had seemed like centuries, Narcissa dismissed her, and had an elf see her and Theo to the doors. They silently walked to the area just outside the gates, so they could disapparate.

“Can you believe this?” she said, gesturing to her body “Narcissa pulled a real nice rabbit out of the proverbial hat…”

Theo scoffed, “You look dashing, but for what it’s worth…you looked great even before this…magical makeover.”

She smiled. Theo, ever the gentleman. “Thanks, but we both know I was an utter disaster. Not that this changes anything…I’m still  _ me _ .”

“Good thing you are, because I like  _ you _ ,'' he said before bowing and disapparating.

**Present Day**

Hermione had left Harry’s place to run some errands in Diagon Alley. She had to stop by the Apothecary to get some potions ingredients, and by Flourish and Blotts to retrieve a parcel of books she had ordered two weeks before. Not to mention the meeting at Gringotts to assess the content of the Selwyn vault. She had been visiting the bloody bank every other day, but the list of things to do was ever-growing, and the Goblins and their oh-so-flexible protocols didn’t help one bit.

Of course hoping that people would pay no heed to the  _ Prophet’s _ article was beyond optimistic, and she found herself the target of very invasive stares and the occasional remark.

_ Thank you very much Rita Skeeter. _

After two hours of struggles and unpleasant encounters, Hermione was ready to hex whoever approached her next. Good thing she actually didn’t, since the young lad who stopped her next was actually just Theo.

“The sour look on your pretty face tells me you are indeed a subscriber of our esteemed  _ Prophet _ , and that you’re not impressed with their editorial choices.”

Despite her general irritation, Hermione laughed. “Understatement of the year,”

“Well, I’m actually glad I ran into you. I would’ve stopped at your place later today, but here we are!” he said, a little too jovially. Hermione was too preoccupied with all the people staring at them to give his unease much thought. “I was wondering…if you fancied hanging out on Saturday night. I thought we could you know…do our thing…the Brinner”.

_ The Brinner _ was something they had invented during one late night of studying, back in their fourth year. It was too late for dinner, but decidedly too early for breakfast…Hermione kept repeating how she fancied both salted and sweet food, so Theo had sneaked to the kitchens and had come back with a pizza with M&Ms on it.

Hermione had probably never laughed so hard in her entire life. Nonetheless, she had humoured him and had eaten the weird combination of ingredients. Surprisingly, she liked the taste and so did Theo. Which only showed how both their senses of taste were irremediably messed up. Since that fateful night, pizza and M&Ms was their guilty pleasure. Neither had ever acknowledged that M&Ms were a Muggle candy.

“Oh, Gods yes! I need some normalcy lately! My place at seven? We can also watch a film together!” she replied with unabashed enthusiasm.

Theo seemed relieved. “Oh, good…I…yes your place sounds perfect. See you on Saturday then!” He disapparated, waving his hand. 

Hermione was  _ so  _ done for the day and followed suit, thoroughly anticipating a quiet night with her long-time friend. 

**Two days later, Friday.**

A dedicated circle in Hell awaited Narcissa Malfoy, of that Hermione was sure.

Her lessons were the nearest thing to eternal damnation she could think of, metaphorical flogging included. Which, ultimately, was exactly the reason why she had escaped to Muggle London and was currently sitting outside a café, gobbling down spoonful after spoonful of sinful cookie dough ice cream. She was making a statement, even if there was no one to witness it. She was fighting one of the stupid Pureblood concepts; according to Narcissa, women had to avoid eating unsuitable foods. It was ice cream, for crying out loud!  _ And no, she didn’t feel the least bit guilty about that. _

Thinking non-stop about the Malfoys must’ve summoned their scion. Hermione had no other explanation for the appearance of one Draco Malfoy, strolling leisurely down the road and towards her.

Once close enough, he bowed (bowed!) and took her hand. “Hermione, what a picturesque sight. A charming lady eating at a café, under this lovely sun, caressed by the breeze…”

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” she interrupted his praise-singing. Hermione honestly hoped he realised she wouldn’t fall for his act. First, he had never called her Hermione before the whole Selwyn scoop. Second thing, no one of sound mind would ever define that pale resemblance to the actual sun 'lovely', or the bloody wind lashes as ‘caresses’.

“Simply looking for you. Do you mind if I join you for a minute? I think a chat is long overdue,” he said. He seemed more vulnerable and sincere than she’d ever seen him, which was why she gestured to the free seat in front of her, ready to listen to what he had to say.

“Look Hermione, I know our relationship has always been rocky…” he started, “and I want you to know I acknowledge my part in making your Hogwarts years…unpleasant”

“Understatement of the decade, Malfoy”

“Well, yes…” he conceded “I know. And I am here, in Muggle London of all places, to apologise. I know I’ve been an arse, okay? I am not saying that now I love all things Muggle, or that I have never truly believed in Pureblood ideology. I don’t, and I did. Sometimes, I must admit it’s still difficult to let go of the past, but…I am trying.”

Wow.

Hermione was tempted to pinch herself to check she really was awake. Draco Malfoy had clearly been abducted by aliens, very kind aliens at that, and substituted with a clone.

A little voice inside her head kept telling her that he wasn’t to be trusted, that he wasn’t the kind of person to do some soul searching. To be honest, Hermione had always thought he was as deep as a puddle, and that he could never have a  _ real _ change of heart.

Alas, she went against her instincts and decided to ignore said voice. Who was she to deny him his chance at redemption?

“Hermione,” he continued, “Here’s my peace offering: I would love you to be my plus one for tomorrow’s party”.

Hermione blinked. Twice. “You mean the Annual Saturday Soiree?” He smiled and nodded.

_ Gods _ . It was  _ only _ the most exclusive party held by Britain’s wizarding high society. Or well, by their offspring.

Only younger generations were allowed, and rumours had it that the party was held in a secret location, with decadent food, the best entertainment one could imagine, and all of wizarding who’s who.

Hermione was pretty sure it wouldn’t be her scene, but after all of Narcissa’s efforts, and given Draco’s seemingly good intentions, she very well couldn’t refuse.

“Okay, I’m in.”

His smile was dazzling. “Wonderful, I’ll pick you up at 5 PM, this year’s theme is  _ Summer Bonfire Night _ , dress accordingly”

Once back at home, she drafted a quick note to Theo, excusing herself. Not once did she rhink it was weird that he hadn’t planned on participating in the event, preoccupied as she was about how she would dress and who she would meet.

  
  
  


**Kensington Gardens, Sunday night 2 AM**

A Royal mess, quite literally.

Hermione had been crying for the past two, maybe three hours non-stop. The logical part of her brain knew that it was no use, that what was done was done, but the very irrational part of her brain disagreed and had her in tears. Big, fat tears that  _ just would not stop. _

She was sitting on her favourite bench in Kensington Gardens. She had apparated there right after…well, right after the  _ mess _ .

The night had been a disaster. No, worse: a calamity. The horrible thing was, it was all her fault, for being so bloody stupid. She should never have trusted Draco  _ fucking _ Malfoy to begin with.

**Three Hours Earlier**

The secret location was indeed secret. Draco Malfoy had brought his invite to the soiree, and it turned out the thing was a Portkey, that transported them to a villa on the sea. The  _ actual _ sea, not the English Channel.

The temperature was warm, but a gentle breeze made the heat bearable. Hermione looked around and saw shrubs typical of the Mediterranean area. They must’ve portkeyed to either Spain or Southern Italy by the look of it.

Draco put a hand on the small of her back and guided her down a path lined by white torches. Hermione was very aware of his hand touching her bare skin, and wasn’t sure she liked the sensation. It gave her goose bumps all right, but of the wrong kind.

She tried to escape the contact, but didn’t want to inadvertently set her summer dress alight by wandering too close to the torches. She didn’t need that kind of scoop in the papers. Rita Skeeter had already labelled her as  _ average, goofy, and prone to embarrass the Purebloods _ .

Once they reached the gates, she found two very tanned and very, very broad-shouldered bouncers welcoming them. “ _ Signora, Signore, buonasera”. _

Ok, definitely Southern Italy then.

Once inside the gardens, they were treated with the most gargantuan buffet she’d ever seen. Her first instinct was to stuff her face with  _ focaccia, mortadella, arancini, spaghetti al pomodoro, _ and so on. Then, thankfully, she remembered Narcissa’s lessons and only took a couple of parmesan bites, a few olives, and some handmade  _ grissini _ .

Draco kept resting his hand on her back to guide her around. He introduced her as Hermione Selwyn (another thing that grated on her nerves) and acted as if he owned her.

After what felt like ages, they moved from the dinner area to the beach, where the party was going strong. Music was blasting, people were dancing, and there was a cocktail bar providing alcohol to the masses.  _ Amen _ .

With great displeasure, Hermione spotted Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini under a gazebo. They were signalling Draco to join them. She had no other choice than follow, since he insisted on keeping his hand on her at all times.

“Hermione! What a pleasure!” said Pansy kissing her on the cheek.

_ Judas Kiss. _

Pansy and Blaise caught Draco up regarding the rumour mill. Apparently, Purebloods were up to all sorts of shenanigans, much like many Muggle aristocrats.

Hermione was bored out of her mind, and the loud music was beginning to give her a headache. Draco was telling her something, but she could barely hear him.

“WHAT?”, she shouted.

“I ASKED IF YOU WANT TO GO FOR A WALK!”

She agreed, if only to escape the horrific sounds and the blazing heat created by the bodies swinging to the music.

Not far there was a small gazebo, protected by linen curtains. “There are chairs in there, do you want to go sit down?”

Hermione nodded and followed him. Once inside, she realised the space was smaller than she’d anticipated and that there were no chairs, only one chaise longue. Her first instinct was to leave, but she mentally berated herself for being so paranoid.

They sat down and Malfoy kept inching closer and closer. Hermione tried inconspicuously to avoid physical contact. Honestly, she just wanted to flee. His vibes were predatory at best, and she just had a terrible feeling about that night.

She hadn’t even finished thinking something was off, then Pansy Parkinson had opened the curtains, while Draco jumped her…and a thousand flashes went off.

In record time she would be in all papers and magazines. Rita Skeeter would have a field day, and her already-compromised reputation would vanish.

All of that, one week before she would be officially instated as Heir to the Selwyin estate during an official ceremony.  _ Brilliant _ .

Hermione wasn’t one to lose composure, but lose it she did. She fled the beach and grabbed a portkey for the British guests – there were hundreds labeled by country on a table near the exit - only to appear seconds later in the Atrium of the Ministry. In record time she disapparated, with a very specific spot in Muggle London in mind.

**Six Days Later**

Predictably, the news painted Hermione as a disgrace to the Pureblood society, as well as a “harlot in disguise”.

Gryffindor courage forgotten, she had spent the past week on her sofa, crying.

And eating Ben and Jerry’s right from the jar.

_ Take that Narcissa! _

She had become quite the expert, when it came to ice cream flavours. Karamel Sutra had been a nice discovery, as well as Blondie Brownie, but nothing beat Caramel Chew Chew and Cookie Dough.

She had saved the Cookie Dough jar for last, because it was her favourite. Hers and Theo’s.

Theo, who hadn’t contacted her since she ditched him for the fancy disaster with Draco Malfoy, whom she didn’t even fucking like.

Theo who hadn’t even checked on her after the horrible articles in the magazines.

The pain of his absence got her thinking about them. He had always been there, and Hermione had been too stupid to notice.

She’d always taken for granted the time they spent together in the library, often researching crazy things just for the sake of it. His curly head of black hair bouncing while he laughed, the way his glasses fell off his nose, his bright blue eyes shining in mirth.

How could she have missed that she had all she needed right in front of her?

That she did not need a peace offering from Malfoy, nor did she need lessons or makeovers from his mother. She was Hermione Granger, and Ron was bloody right: same Hermione, new surname. Not that she’d ever get rid of the old one. She would not let go of a past she felt was hers and had shaped her into who she was, just because a bunch of snobby Purebloods expected her to.

She wanted to eat ice cream from the jar, or stuff her face with pizza. She wanted to battle for House Elves rights, and other minorities, too. She wanted real relationships with people she liked and chose to be with - people who liked her for who she was, and not for her family name.

People like Harry, Ginny, Ron.

And Theo.

Before she could think too much, she jumped off the sofa, grabbed some Floo powder, and was in the fireplace, shouting his address.

Luckily, their Floo connection was still active, and a moment later, she stumbled into his living room covered in soot, wearing a white, fluffy nightgown. Her hair was a mess, and she was sure her eyes were all red and puffy, but she didn’t care. She had to see him.

**Theo’s Flat, London**

When she not so gracefully landed in the room, Theo shot up from the sofa, wand out.

“It’s me! It’s me, Hermione!” she shouted, hands in the air.

“You crazy woman! I was going to hex you, for God’s sake! Next time—next time bloody announce yourself!”

“Theodore, I came out of your fireplace. I believe you have set it on private, haven’t you? I mean…”

By how he relaxed, Hermione understood that Theo realised that yes, no Cookie Monsters were ever going to come out of his fireplace. “What are you even wearing, by the way?”

“My fluffy nightgown!” 

“Don’t get so defensive, it’s cute. Hardly appropriate, but cute!”

Hermione shot him a glare, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. “It’s not like I went parading down Diagon Alley…”

“No, but you came to a gentleman’s apartment. What will dear Narcissa think?”

Ok, so he was purposefully giving her a hard time. Fair enough. She totally deserved it. After all, she had been a clueless idiot until…literally a few minutes before.

“I know you’re mad, and I came here to say I’m so—“

“Mad, Hermione?” he interrupted, his eyes blazing. “I am not mad. I am—I am disappointed, frustrated, baffled, upset, saddened, and a little bit wounded. I am not just…mad.”

Hermione did not cry much, she never had been prone to tears.

Not because she wanted to show strength. She just didn’t. But Theo’s words were like sharp knives cutting her heart into tiny slices.

“Don’t do this, Theo. Please. This isn’t you,” she pleaded, on the verge of tears.

He conjured a magazine out of nowhere, showing her the infamous picture taken in the stupid gazebo. “And is this you?”

That was it. She started crying big fat tears. “No, it isn’t! You know that was all a scam, that I don’t care about that life, that I would never let Malfoy—“

“Calm down, Hermione. I know, I know. I never thought this was true, all I’m trying to say is…you shouldn’t have put yourself in that situation in the first place! You don’t need them; you shine by your own light!”

She nodded while wiping her face, “I—I just came to say I’m sorry. I should never have accepted Malfoy’s invitation. It was pointless and stupid…”

She stopped talking when she noticed her words weren’t having the desired effect: Theo looked sombre and almost distant. Fuelled by a quiet rage.

“I don’t care that you went to the stupid party, Hermione!” his eyes were ablaze, his chest was heaving and his hair was all over the place. “You don’t get the point. You are brilliant, clever and sharp…yet you never got the point.”

Hermione bit her lip. She didn’t know what to do. She’d never seen Theo so flustered since they met. He was the calm and understanding one. What had she said? What was she missing? She hated not knowing; she hated feeling stupid.

She took his hand, her final effort to mend things. “Theo, tomorrow there’s my Pureblood Debut Ceremony…and I would like you to come with me. I know I’ve made all the wrong decisions, but I see it now. I see that I should’ve probably gone by myself, or at least should’ve seen Malfoy’s scheming in advance.”

He stiffened, and Hermione had the distinct impression he badly wanted to pull away. “You see!? I don’t think you do, Hermione. I am sorry, more than you know, but I can’t come with you tomorrow. Not like this, not if you won’t—” he stopped abruptly. ”Never mind, I—I just can’t do this anymore. I am sorry, Hermione. You should go.”

And just like that, Hermione’s world as she knew it fell right apart.

Theo didn’t want to be her friend anymore.

**Saturday Night, day of the Pureblood Debut Ceremony. – Hermione’s flat.**

The following night, Hermione’s mood was still abysmal.

She’d spent the previous night crying her heart out (again), and her face bore the signs of her despair. No amount of make-up, magical or Muggle, could hide those red eyes.

Theo’s words had hurt, but what had hurt more than anything, had been his refusal to forgive her.

She just hoped that he would eventually change his mind, and forgive her for trusting the Malfoys.

Her heart had been beating like a raging animal’s since the moment she saw him in his living room the previous night. She couldn’t quite place why she was so nervous, since she’d never been edgy around Theo before.

Reluctantly, Hermione got up from the sofa and went to her bedroom. She had to get ready for the stupid ceremony.

She retrieved her gown. Ginny had more than happily taken on the role of stylist and personal shopper, since Hermione had refused Narcissa’s help, still sour about the idiocy of her good-for-nothing son.

Looking at her reflection, she had to admit, her friend had outdone herself. The dress was simply breathtaking, with its corset embedded with tiny diamonds and its long, silver skirt. If only Hermione were in the mood to attend the ceremony…

Actually, she had already signed all the relevant documents, and this was just for show. Which made it even more annoying. Why would she want to spend her evening in the company of people she didn’t care about?

And just like that, she panicked. She emergency-called Ginny via Floo Network. Ginny insisted on calling back “lest you ruin your hair and make up,” and not a minute later the redhead’s face was floating in Hermione’s fireplace. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Everything. Everything is wrong. I can’t do this, I—I have nothing in common with those people. I just want to—I don’t know, I want to do some crazy research in the library with Theo, or try making new potions, or read Muggle literature to him. I would kill for a brinner righ—“

She stopped, abruptly, her eyes wide.

“A what?” asked Ginny, seemingly perplexed.

“Nothing, I have to go! I have something important to do.” She stood up with purpose.

“The ceremony you mean?”

“Screw the stupid ceremony! Something way more important!” she shouted while rushing out the door and leaving Ginny there with a satisfied grin on her face.

Once in the street, Hermione called acCab. She didn’t want to risk the Floo, and had a stop she needed to make first.

**Fifteen minutes later**

Of course it had started raining cats and dogs. Just her luck.

Hermione was totally and utterly soaked to the bone. Her dress was ruined, her hair was a royal mess, and she didn’t even want to know about her make-up. Truth was, she didn’t care.

She knocked at the door, while her heart beat so fast it was a wonder she had not fainted yet.

A second later, the door swung open and there he was.

Theodore Nott had the power to look good even when wearing pyjamas, Hermione realised. She, on the other hand, probably looked like a terrified puppy. A wet, terrified puppy holding a pizza carton open with her uncooperative trembling hands.

Theo didn’t say a word, he just took a step forward and peeked into the carton. There was a pizza margherita, and on top, a single word written with M&Ms:  **SORRY** .

He kept staring at the pizza without saying anything, and Hermione was losing all hope to mend things and be forgiven.

How could she be so stupid? Theo never cared about her closeness to the Malfoys, he was simply hurt because she dismissed his invite without a second thought. He had asked her on a date and she hadn’t even realised it.

She had always taken him for granted, but she never noticed all the small things he did for her. The attention he put into organising their time together, the compliments…she’d been blind.

Hermione wanted to cry. She could feel the tears welling up, and was desperately trying to keep them at bay. She was a few seconds shy of just leaving, when Theo took the pizza carton and threw it to the side. He took another step forward and grabbed her, as if he were afraid she would disappear.

“Why me, Hermione?”

She looked at him. His eyes were as deep as the ocean and twice as blue, and she caressed him. 

“Because you saw me when I was invisible.”

Apparently, it was all he needed to hear, because he leaned forward and kissed her as if both their lives depended on it. His lips were soft, but firm, and he tasted of lemon and mint. He was holding her close, his hands in her hair and not an inch between them.

Hermione felt all the right things: shaking legs, butterflies, and a racing heart. But most of all, she felt she had found where she belonged.

In Theo’s arms, Hermione felt at home.

************THE END************


End file.
